Five Times Spike Died
by amyxaphania
Summary: Five ways Spike might have died, and how Buffy might have reacted.


**Five Times Spike Died (And One Time He Didn't)**

"I love you." There were so many ways he could reply to her words and she'd imagined them all.

_I know._

Took you bloody long enough!

I love you too.

Spike, being Spike, had to be contrary. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."

**i. Women**

Spike knew that he had this Slayer beat. The girl was lying in the rubble of her school foyer, knocked nearly unconscious, and not looking like she would be making a recovery in the fight any time soon.

He grinned and strolled towards her, admiring her shapely calves and thighs in that ridiculously short skirt.

She was moving slightly now, roused back to consciousness and making efforts to stand up. Spike stood over her, contemplating.

He'd have liked to have danced with this one a mite longer. Good little fighter she'd be, in a few years' time. But opportunities to off a Slayer didn't come along every day, so he raised the piece of metal above his head, ready to strike.

There was a sudden dull pain in the back of his head, and he shuddered, turning and backing away to see an older woman wielding an axe.

"You get the hell away from my daughter!"

Spike held the metal bar out in front of him, ready to fend off any further attacks, when the Slayer stood, a wooden stake clutched in her hands.

Spike had just decided to make a strategic retreat, when the Slayer lunged forwards and ran him right through with the stake. He looked down at the wood protruding from his heart, then back up at the girl, able to mouth only one word before he dissolved into dust.

"Women!"

**ii. Slayer**

Buffy was still reeling from Parker's rejection when she heard the very familiar British voice of her not-so-favourite vampire.

"Wow. That was pathetic."

Before she had time to react, he had punched her in the face, grinning manically. He followed up his punch with some rambling about squirrels and freckles, leaving Buffy to wonder how the heck he was outside in the daytime.

She didn't waste time pondering but jumped up and launched herself into the fight. She had always enjoyed fights with Spike. His strength and skill matched her own far more than the local vampires she encountered on her nightly patrols ever could.

And this fight was pretty even. He matched her blow for blow, neither one of them gaining an edge over the other. She could tell he was trying to put her off her game, but the sarcastic comments and subtle digs he threw at her only made her more determined to see him turn to dust.

The tide turning, her stake finally found its target, sinking into his flesh with an ease that surprised her. She had always thought Spike would be harder to kill. There was a moment of confusion when he didn't dust, followed by comprehension as he flaunted a gaudy ring, voice mocking and full of arrogance.

The fight continued in earnest until, eventually, she had herself twisted around him, his arm clutched in her hands.

"Take it off me this way, we both burn."

"Really?" Buffy kept her voice light, knowing that would annoy him. "Let's see." She pulled the ring from his finger and tossed it aside, keeping a tight grip on Spike's wrist even as his flesh started to sizzle.

She could hear his cries of pain, the insults and threats he threw at her even as he burned–reminders of how evil and dangerous he was–but she held fast and tried to ignore the way the flames licked at her own body whilst devouring his.

A few seconds later, she felt him dissolve into dust and she took a step back, panting. Clutching her burned arm to her chest, she walked away, stopping only to pick up the ring from where it had fallen and paying no mind to the pile of ashes she left behind.

**iii. Hell God**

Having to stop Spike from spilling the beans to Glory was the last thing Buffy needed, especially on top of the day she'd already had.

Left reeling from the mystical quest, she'd returned home only to be mistaken for Barbie-Bot by her friends _and_ presented with the news that Spike was being held captive by the Hell God.

Not the most perfect of ways to end the day, but she had to admit that the fight with the scabby goblins was taking her mind off what the First Slayer had said in the desert.

_Death is your gift._

"Ha!" she said. The demon she was fighting went flying across the lobby, cracking its head against the wall and falling to the floor in a slump. "Maybe _that's_ what she meant."

Having dispatched with the last of the minions, she gestured to her friends to follow her upstairs. The apartment complex was a maze of corridors, but Buffy made her way straight to the top–only the best for Glorificus.

It seemed her instincts had been correct: noises were emanating from behind the closed penthouse door. Thuds and cracks, and the occasional cry of pain. Pushing the door open, Buffy came to a sudden halt when she saw what was happening inside.

Glory stood on a coffee table, grinning. She held Spike aloft in her right hand and with the other she waved at the gathered Scoobies. "Hi guys." Her grin was manic, her hair in disarray. "Glad you could make it."

Buffy took a step forward but found herself held back by an invisible force.

"Nuh-uh," Glory said. She shook Spike and the vampire made a strangled noise, his eyes bulging. "I'm just about done with this one. Not very helpful, were you, Blondie?"

Spike made another choked noise as he twisted and turned, trying to free himself from Glory's grasp. Buffy met his eyes and again tried–unsuccessfully–to move towards the horrible scene before her, but she instinctively knew that it was too late. For that, she felt a strange sense of sorrow descend on her.

As Glory squeezed Spike's neck even tighter, Buffy kept her gaze focused on his and mouthed two words to him, hoping that he saw them before he turned to dust.

"I'm sorry."

**iv. Self**

For the first time in over a century, he felt cold.

Cold outside, cold inside.

Voices clamoured in his head, each one shouting for prominence.

"Didn't mean it. Didn't mean to. Sorry. Sorry." He curled into a ball and covered his ears. It didn't work.

He scratched at his chest, but his nails were too blunt to make any difference.

Days passed–he didn't know how many–and still the voices came.

_You're bad. You're wrong. Evil, disgusting thing._

He shook his head. "Stop. Stop it. _STOP_!"

They didn't.

He couldn't block them out.

He couldn't claw _it_ out.

He'd done it all for _her_, but she'd never accept it, never accept him.

When morning broke, he stood and walked to the mouth of the cave.

The sunlight turned him to dust, and the breeze carried him away.

Finally, he had peace.

**v. Evil**

The caves were cold and quiet.

_Too quiet_. Buffy bit her lip and suppressed the urge to laugh. So not the time for a cliché horror movie line.

Fighting the Turok-Han had exhausted her both physically and mentally, and, at that moment, only the thought of finding Spike was keeping her going.

She'd barely had time to miss him in the days since he'd been taken by the Bringers but, at night, when the herd of Potentials finally fell asleep, she thought of him and hoped that he was okay, that it wasn't too late.

In those hushed, calm moments, she whispered a secret to her empty room, safe in the knowledge that it couldn't talk back.

_I love Spike._

And when she found him, she'd tell him. If not with words–she'd never been good with words–then with actions. A touch. A glance.

Rounding the corner, she came to a stop at the entrance to a large cavern. There was a pool of water at one end and shackles on the wall at the other. The soil on the floor was mussed, as though there had been a fight recently.

But the cave was empty, with no sign of Spike. Buffy frowned. She'd defeated the Turok-Han and had expected Spike to be there. A bit worse for wear perhaps, but _there_.

There was nothing. No clues to his whereabouts.

Nothing but a pile of–

_Oh._

**vi. Hellmouth**

"I love you." There were so many ways he could reply to her words and she'd imagined them all.

_I know._

Took you bloody long enough!

I love you too.

Spike, being Spike, had to be contrary. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."

Before she could answer him, the ground shifted beneath them and more rubble fell from the roof of the cavern. Their hands were separated, and the flames died.

"Go! I wanna see how it ends."

Buffy didn't move. The world was crumbling around her, but all she could hear was Spike, telling her she didn't love him, and that made her angry. "I do so love you!"

Spike frowned. "Not really the time, Pet. World's kind of ending here."

"Exactly!" Buffy cast a worried glance to where the shaft of light met the amulet on Spike's chest; it seemed to be getting brighter. "Why couldn't you have just said, 'I bloody well love you too, Buffy. Now let's get out of here'?"

Spike gaped. "Are we really standing here, having an argument, while the sodding world's collapsing in on itself?"

"I think we are, yeah." Buffy nodded and bit her lip when the cave shook once more. "Oh, God. Let's just go, okay? We can snark at each other later." She reached out and snatched the amulet from around his neck before grabbing his hand and running towards the stairs.

Spike paused for a moment to hitch his coat up over his head–it was still sunny outside after all–and they ran towards the bright yellow bus, the town falling in on itself behind them.

When the bus came to a stop on the outskirts of the destroyed town, Buffy didn't care about the ache from her stomach wound or the burns on her hands. Sunnydale was gone, but she had her friends and family with her. Spike was alive, she was alive, and, whatever the future held, they would face it together.

She smiled.


End file.
